And tel both who ye be, and who that tooke your part.”
Melting in teares, then gan she thus lament.
“The wretched woman, whom unhappy howre
Hath now made thrall to your commandement,
Before that angry heavens lift to lowre,
And fortune false betraide me to thy powre,
Was (O! what now availeth that I was?)
Borne the sole daughter of an Emperour;
He that the wide West under his rule has,
And high hath set his throne where Tiberis doth pas.
“He, in the first flowre of my freshest age,
Betrothed me unto the onely haire
Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage:
Was never Prince so faithfull and so faire,
Was never Prince so meeke and debonaire;
But ere my hoped day of spousall shone,
My dearest Lord fell from high honors staire
Into the hands of his accursed fone,
And cruelly was slaine; that shall I ever mone.
“His blessed body, spoild of lively breath,
Was afterward, I know not how, convaid,
And fro me hid: of whose most innocent death
When tidings came to mee, unhappy maid,
O, how great sorrow my sad soule assaid!
Then forth I went his woefull course to find,
And many yeares throughout the world I straid,
A virgin widow; whose deepe wounded mind
With love long time did languish, as the striken hind.
“At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin
To meete me wandring; who perforce me led
With him away, but yet could never win
The Fort, that Ladies hold in soveraigne dread.
There lies he now with foule dishonor dead,
Who, whiles he livde, was called proud Sans foy,
The eldest of three brethren; all three bred
Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sans joy;
And twixt them both was born the bloody bold Sans loy.
“In this sad plight, friendlesse, unfortunate,
Now miserable I, Fidessa, dwell,
Craving of you, in pity of my state,
To doe none ill, if please ye not doe well.”
He in great passion al this while did dwell,
More busying his quicke eies her face to view,
Then his dull eares to heare what shee did tell;
And said, “faire lady, hart of flint would rew
The undeserved woes and sorrowes, which me shew.
“Henceforth in safe assuraunce may ye rest,
Having both found a new friend to your aid,
And lost an old foe that did you molest:
Better new friend than an old foe is said.”
With chaunge of chear the seeming simple maid
Let fal her eien, as shamefast, to the earth,
And yeelding soft, in that she nought gainsaid,
So forth they rode, he feining seemely merth,
And shee coy lookes: so dainty, they say, maketh derth.
Long time they thus together traveiled;
Til, weary of their way, they came at last
Where grew two goodly trees, that faire did spred
Their armes abroad, with gray mosse overcast;
And their greene leaves, trembling with every blast,
Made a calme shadowe far in compasse round:
The fearefull shepheard, often there aghast,
Under them never sat, ne wont there sound
His mery oaten pipe, but shund th’unlucky ground.
But this good knight, soone as he them can spie,
For the coole shade him thither hastly got:
For golden Phœbus, now ymounted hie,
From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot
Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot,
That living creature mote it not abide;
And his new Lady it endured not.
There they alight, in hope themselves to hide
From the fierce heat, and rest their weary limbs a tide.
Faire seemely pleasaunce each to other makes,
With goodly purposes, there as they sit;
And in his falsed fancy he her takes
To be the fairest wight that lived yit;
Which to expresse he bends his gentle wit;
And, thinking of those braunches greene to frame
A girlond for her dainty forehead fit,
He pluckt a bough; out of whose rifte there came
Small drops of gory blood, that trickled down the same.
Therewith a piteous yelling voice was heard,
Crying, “O! spare with guilty hands to teare
My tender sides in this rough rynd embard;
But fly, ah! fly far hence away, for feare
Least to you hap that happened to me heare,
And to this wretched Lady, my deare love;
O, too deare love, love bought with death too deare!”
Astond he stood, and up his heare did hove;
And with that suddein horror could no member move.
At last whenas the dreadfull passion
Was overpast, and manhood well awake,
Yet musing at the straunge occasion,
And doubting much his fence, he thus bespake:
“What voice of damned Ghost from Limbo lake,
Or guilefull spright wandring in empty aire,
Both which fraile men doe oftentimes mistake,
Sends to my doubtful eares these speaches rare,
And ruefull plaints, me bidding guiltlesse blood to spare?”
Then groning deep; “Nor damned Ghost,” (quoth he,)
“Nor guileful sprite to thee these words doth speake;
But once a man, Fradubio, now a tree;
Wretched man, wretched tree! whose nature weake
A cruell witch, her cursed will to wreake,
Hath thus transformed, and plast in open plaines,
Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake,
And scorching Sunne does dry my secret vaines;
For though a tree I seme, yet cold and heat me paines.”
“Say on Fradubio, then, or man or tree,”
Quoth then the Knight; “by whose mischievous arts
Art thou misshaped thus, as now I see?
He oft finds med’cine who his griefe imparts,
But double griefs afflict concealing harts,
As raging flames who striveth to suppresse.”
“The author then,” (said he) “of all my smarts,
Is one Duessa, a false sorceresse,
That many errant knights hath broght to wretchednesse.
“In prime of youthly yeares, when corage hott
The fire of love, and joy of chevalree,
First kindled in my breast, it was my lott
To love this gentle Lady, whome ye see
Now not a Lady, but a teeming tree;
With whome, as once I rode accompanyde,
Me chaunced of a knight encountred be,
That had a like faire Lady by his syde;
Like a faire Lady, but did fowle
